Sugar, Sugar?
by Existence's Bane
Summary: Hiro has been getting gifts from K anonymously. fluff, somewhat AU, rated for language and some suggestive themes
1. Chapter 1

Hello, wonderful readers

_Hello, wonderful readers_._ This is a oneshot and is due to a request from the lovely, one and only Orange-Maple_._ I hope I don't let you down!_

_Disclaimer_:_ I do not own anything, save the plot_._ I'm so bad_.

_Pairing_:_ KxHiro_…_Kiro?_

_Warnings_: _None_.

_A note on the gifts_:_ The inscription on one of the items of the first gift is real; in fact, I own those same guitar picks_.

_**Sugar, Sugar?**_

_**By Cory**_

_February First_:_ Saturday_

"K, you _idiot!_"

Blond hair whipped around, revealing a flushed, somewhat sheepish face. "What?" he asked innocently. He straightened his white shirt testily. "I'll have you know that I was busy."

Suguru snarled. "We missed a shot at being on _Hits Television_ because _you weren't there!_" He slammed his fist into the table. Shuichi, who had drooling mid-slumber on the break room table, jerked awake, his hand slapping against the rim of Hiroshi's teacup, sending it skidding across the table.

K glanced at the cup, and Hiroshi—who was glaring daggers at Shuichi while mopping up the spill with a sopping napkin—then back at Suguru. "Look, I know that I'm late. But what I was doing will really bring the band together soon."

Suguru just shoved back from the table angrily. "Well, can you at least keep these things in mind from now on? Who knows when we'll get a chance like that again!" he gnashed, prowling from the room moodily.

"Sorry about the tea, Hiro," Shuichi yawned as he wiped the trail of dribble stretching from the corner of his mouth to his jaw.

Hiro grunted, his way of saying that he was vaguely annoyed, but was too tired to pursue the grievance, allowing Shuichi to walk free of reprimand. "Can we go now?" he asked of Sakano, who had been hovering fretfully in the background for the entirety of the rant. "I think we've recorded enough for this week.

Sakano straightened his tie nervously as he tipped a stylus to his handheld organizer. "Well—" he began, sounding unsure.

"Great," Shuichi mumbled sleepily, rising. "Can you take me home, Hiro? I think I'll fall asleep on the road."

Hiro sighed. "Fine, so long as we don't have a repeat of last week."

"Hey! That was not my fault! Who knew that ice cream was that sticky on a motorcycle jacket?"

"Everyone but you." Hiro rose, tossing the tattered, drenched napkins in a trash can as he passed.

"See you Monday!" K called, waving jauntily. He seemed awfully happy for some reason.

Upon Hiro's return to his condominium—after surrendering a snoring Shuichi to a smoking, detached Yuki—he found a package awaiting him patiently just in front of his room's door.

He looked at it suspiciously. For all he knew, it could have been from an obsessive fangirl or a disease-distributing radical.

It looked innocent enough—just a rectangular package swathed in shimmery, sky-blue wrapping paper with a deep green ribbon of velvet lying across it. It was nestled comfortably, invitingly, in the hallway's trodden tan carpet.

With some apprehension that he brushed off, he unlocked his door and picked it up in one hand, nudging the door closed with his heel after he entered his pad. He dropped it on the kitchen table and retrieved the kitchen scissors, then returned and inspected the package.

There was no addresses set upon it, only the name _Nakano Hiroshi _printed on the top with black marker. He untied the ribbon and ripped the thing open, wanting to get this over with and get a shower.

He blanched when the smallish, rectangular box was free of its binding. It was a case of gorgeous guitar picks. With slightly wide, speculative eyes, he lifted it and shredded open the package with the equivalent ferocity of a tiger tearing open a prey's carcass.

There were four in all. One was styled pitch black with the gold inscription in English for _Existence's Bane_; another was deep, shiny blood red with black stripes racing across; another was deep gold one moment then a rich butterscotch the next, depending on how the light hit it; but the best was silver with many facets that made it seem like it had beaten by a hammer into its shape, and it had a sheen like broken glass. Hiro let out a low whistle and stared at them all, then glanced at the box; the print was in English. He bounced them experimentally in his palm. They were perfect: just the right weight, and a little artsy edge didn't hurt. His fingers got that instinctual, familiar itch to test them out on his guitar.

A note was taped to the side of the remains of the box. Hiro glanced from the note to the picks, internally debating whether to see who had sent them or to trial his unexpected present. Did he even want to know who the giver was? Curiosity got the best of him, as well a sense of gratefulness. He snatched it up and read in the waning light drifting from his overhead light.

_Dear Hiro,_

_Just thought that these would help you_._ You've needed something special recently—you've been worn thin, no?_

_So, today's February first_._ And this is your first present_._ Expect thirteen more!_

_Yours truly and forever,_

_Someone who's thinking of you_

Hiro blinked. Thirteen more—so, until Valentine's Day? Then what? And who was this from? It sounded so cryptic. He attempted to squish the warmth of pleased, flattered surprise in his chest, instead trying to fill it with doubt and wariness that _should_ have come incontrovertibly with the gift from someone he didn't know the identity.

_February Second_:_ Sunday_

Sunday was a lazy day for Hiroshi. He had absolutely no plans, so the majority of that day was spent sleeping in until one o'clock in the afternoon, heating some sloppy ramen, playing video games, and watching old films while he tossed popcorn into his mouth.

He had tested his new guitar picks, and had convinced himself that he had fallen in love with them. His guitars were very happy campers, or so he had decided. As he shoveled some rice from a quick bento into his mouth, there came a knock on his door.

He scooped up the remaining rice and gobbled it up sloppily before answering the door, his bare feet pressing lightly into the carpet. There was no one there: just the shuddering, creamy light of the ceiling lights in the hallway and the generically patterned, grayish wallpaper. He glanced down reflexively, and saw another package.

This one had no ribbon, but was painstakingly enfolded in glossy, blood red wrapping paper. He picked it up—again gazing at it for any sign of the nonexistent addresses—and carried it inside, the smooth wrapping slipping in his suddenly perspiring hands. He noted that this one was larger than the last.

He barely managed to lie to himself and say that he wasn't excited or curious. He managed to slip in the shower for a good twenty minutes before bolting for it on the kitchen table.

Fingers formed unforgiving claws as Hiro shredded through the shimmering packaging, sending it airborne to every corner of his spacious, sparsely-decorated kitchen. Inside was a set of American and British CDs. He glanced curiously at the covers, knowing enough English from high school to read of some of he bands' names: _Rage Against the Machine, Led Zeppelin, Godsmack, Nine Inch Nails, Pink Floyd, Yes, The Medic Droid_ _Suicidal Tendencies, U2, _were a few.

He thoughtfully considered these, and his fingers scraped lightly against a note taped to the back of the bottom CD. He ripped it off and read it quickly, eyes blurring with his speed reading.

_Dear Hiro,_

_Music is a major part of your life, and I hope it will always be, because I'll get to be there_.

_Yours truly,_

_A man with a music collection that recently decreased_

_February Third_:_ Monday_

"So, it's a man," Shuichi muttered around his French fry.

"Could be a transie," Hiro noted dully, leaning back in the restaurant's expansive booth. "And this is a five star restaurant, and you decided to get fries?"

"Of course! What else?" Shuichi demanded.

Hiroshi rolled his eyes. "Nevermind."

"So…guitar picks and Western music. So this person is at least close enough to you to know your tastes."

"Exactly; a stalker."

"That's not very nice," Shuichi noted around the rim of his crystal flute as he sipped bubbly champagne. "I don't think you're right."

Hiroshi jerked his head up to look at his friend so quickly that his neck cricked. "So you know," he accused in a hiss.

Shuichi laughed. "Mm-hmm. And I'm not gonna tell!"

Hiro pouted at him. "Man-bitch," he muttered under his breath.

"Yuki's, anyway. You want to know?" Shuichi taunted as he waggled a French fry in his friend's face.

Hiro snapped his head out and stole the French fry. "Not really," he told him honestly around the food.

Shuichi blanched. "Why not? Most people would be really happy, you know."

Hiroshi shrugged. "There isn't enough time; we've got the new CD to work on, and recording is starting tomorrow, not to mention all the legal crap and merchandising and getting the word out." He waved a hand through the air as if to whap a hornet. "No, thank you very much. I have no time to have a lover right now, boy or girl."

Shuichi looked helplessly at him for a moment, then looked back down at his plate, as if let down by his friend.

Just then a waiter in pressed, spotless tuxedo look-alike swept up beside their table. "Sir," he rumbled in a deep voice to Hiroshi, "there was a package left at the front for you." He was balancing a package in his hand. It was a large box this time, similar to the one used for clothing. A foreign, expensive-looking insignia was stamped on the top of the crisp, white box. A subtle grey bow was lightly drawn taut on the side.

Hiro exchanged glances with Shuichi. While the singer looked ecstatic and excited, the guitarist looked shocked.

"Th-thanks," he muttered and took the package into his lap.

Shuichi was springing in his chair as Hiro still stared at the box. "What are you waiting for? Open it, open it, open it, op—"

"Now?!"

"Yes!"

Hiroshi gulped and turned his eyes back to the present. He lifted the top off lightly to reveal some inviting, wispy gauze which he pressed back like water. Inside was a gorgeous coat, one that even Hiro had only dreamed of owning that he'd seen occasionally on the very elite, like Ryuichi Sakuma.

He stood to reveal it fully, and the box thudded to the carpet as both boys gasped.

It was beautiful; made of silky (so silky he wondered briefly if he hands were deceiving him) fur of a dappled gray-brown-red-white. The inside was satin of a deep, somehow smug red-brown. It seemed long, like it would stretch to Hiro's knees if he donned it. He pressed it too his face and nearly staggered at the sheer softness of the fur. It smelled like fur—not the stiff faux found in the bottom of department store shelves.

"Well, put it on!" Shuichi pressed breathlessly.

Hiro gulped. He had the sudden, absurd notion that he would rip it by touching it a moment longer. "But—"

"Come on, Hiro, it's begging you!"

And indeed it was. With a sigh, Hiro shouldered it on carefully and tugged it into place with the buttons that were lined firmly along the front.

"Ooh," Shuichi and Hiro whispered at the same time.

Hiro looked like a supermodel. Like a supermodel that knew how to dress. It fitted him beyond perfectly. It was close-fitting and flattering; it clung to his torso, hips and even waist subtly, accentuating his slim frame and sending it to new heights. It came to an end at his knees, letting it rest straight around his thighs.

"Aww, Hiro," Shuichi moaned. "Your fans are going to _love_ you."


	2. Chapter 2

_This story was requested by the wonderful Orange-Maple_._ This was a little late in coming, so in apology, the next update will be far sooner_.

_Disclaimer_:_ I own nothing_…_save the plot_._ I'd take the guitarist any day, though_.

_Pairing_:_ KxHiro_…_Kiro? Insert shinigami here_

_Warnings_:_ None_

_**Sugar, Sugar?**_

_**By Cory**_

_February Third_: _Monday_

_Dear Hiro,_

_Even the hottest of guitarists need a little something to warm them up when these season winds come_._ For future reference, I'd heat you up_…_so long as you say please_.

_Yours truly (even if you don't know it!)_

_Hiroshi Sakano's biggest fan, and I don't mean for the music_

"Wow," Shuichi breathed, lightly running a hand millimeters above the divine surface of the fur, as if petting the coat would cause it to detonate into a blazing inferno. "This guy is _so_ not cheap."

Hiro simply looked curiously and doubtfully at the coat. "Apparently."

_February Fourth_:_ Tuesday_

"It's good to see that you actually can keep your goddamned mouth shut. You say one thing out of line to Mr. Seguchi and I'll—"

"That's very nice, Mr. Tsumaki, but I'm sure that they understand," a petite, benign voice clipped from behind the mass of bodyguard.

Tsumaki nodded a head that was roughly the size of a misshapen watermelon and stepped back to reveal a musician with his hands clasped before him. Seguchi's smile was perfectly sweet and innocent as he motioned for them to take their seats. Hiro reluctantly parked himself beside K, so close that their knees brushed. His eyes trained unblinkingly on the producer.

"I'm sorry to call you in on such short notice," he murmured as he took his own seat behind his desk, the chair spinning reflexively until he face them, "but there are a few things that have been brought to my attention that are unsettling."

"Sir?" K asked in a detached but worried tone when Seguchi did not continue.

"Sales are declining rapidly, for one, but there has been a leak on some internet fan sites," Seguchi murmured. "I suppose that the two may be correlated," he added as he spun the screen of his computer to reveal picture of a very familiar vocalist in a compromising position of sorts, with a fletched riding crop in one hand while the other was smearing some gel that appeared to be crushed strawberry shortcake over his stomach, thighs, and everything in between. Strawberry pocky tipped past his smirking lips, and it appeared that a few strands of blond hair were just peeking in from the edge of the photograph.

In unison, all turned to stare at a very shocked Shuichi.

"But I—!"

"_Shuichi!_ What in the _hell_ were you thinking?!" K bellowed, lunging at the lithe singer. With a yelp, the poor, humiliated young man whipped out of the room at a flat run, the American right on his heels, roaring death threats and insults.

Five hours, sixteen minutes and forty-one seconds later, Hiro sauntered up the stairs to his condo, a look a sheer exhaustion and tight nerves burning across his visage. _That idiot,_ he thought as he turned the hallway's corner to face his door. He had been mauled by the press outside N-G until he had blasted away from the mob of bawling reporters._ Next time I see him I swear I'll_…_Oh_.

His foot had nudged another present—or rather, it seemed to be one. It was a mere envelope of thick, ridged, expensive paper. With a curious tilt of his head, he reached for it and unlocked his door.

Tossing his jacket on the back of an overstuffed armchair that sagged comfortably before a glossy plasma screen television on the way to the kitchen, he gripped a pair of kitchen shears and sliced open the in one fluid move. The paper released a sprinkling of dusty whiteness, airborne until it fluttered to the ground invisibly as it gave with a _shrrik_ noise.

He flipped the envelope upside down over his upturned hand to catch a silky, wafer-thin slip of paper and a sheaf of ordinary notebook paper. His eyes snapped over to read the thinner piece of paper first. It was a soft ocher color, with hand-inscribed calligraphy with sloping, spidery writing. It was a certificate for a lifetime-lasting all-expenses-paid stay at a remote spa that he hadn't ever heard the name of. There were two locations listed: one in the Himalayas and the other in South France.

Hiro grunted. Then he frowned and sniffed the paper. It even _smelled_ luxurious; like it had been sprayed with a very faint, elusive scent that he realized after a moment of consideration to be freesia.

He glanced at the note and quickly read with grateful abandon.

_Dearest Hiro,_

_Stressful days occur even on the seemingly most innocent of days_._ Even if it was caused by a star-struck who apparently has never heard of "sexual discetion"_.

_So I hoped that you might actually use this_._ I'll just see you tomorrow, hmm?_

_Yours truly, so long as my hair is long,_

_A man who's been trying to catch your eye for an irritatingly long time_


	3. Chapter 3

_This story was requested by the splendiferous Orange-Maple_.

_Disclaimer_:_ I own nothing, save the plot and the gifts given_.

_Pairing_:_ KxHiro_._ Now known to the world as "Kiro", no?_

_Warning_: _Language_

_Thanks to everyone for reviewing! Your reviews make me want to write all the more_.

_**Sugar, Sugar?**_

_**By Cory**_

_February Fifth_:_ Wednesday_

"Don't look at me like that, Shu," Hiro grumbled, picking moodily at his spur-of-the-moment bento.

Shuichi's wide, smug eyes never wavered. "You still haven't figured it out yet?" He lounged back against his usual chair of their favorite lunch spot, a quiet café across the street from N-G.

"I haven't been thinking about it that much, honestly," Hiro murmured, rising with his tray balanced easily in one hand as he strolled over to the garbage receptacle.

And it was true; Hiro was oddly touched and flattered by the gifts, but he had brushed it off as an enamored fan. Every star had at least a few, regardless of looks or level of prestige. It saddened him slightly, but had resolved not to think on it, if to not be disappointed later than anything else.

Shuichi frowned and pelted beside him as Hiro walked out the front glass doors, his half-full soda still in hand. "What?! You haven't thought about it at _all_?!"

Hiroshi sighed. "I didn't say that. I just said that I have been avoiding it as mush as possible." He stopped at a crosswalk and waited for the cars to cease so he could traverse the hectic street back to return to N-G.

"You kidding? I wouldn't _stop_ thinking about it," Shuichi offered dreamily.

Hiroshi rumbled out a noncommittal sound as he sipped his drink._ This is where we are different_, Hiro considered as he began to cross. _He takes everything at face value and will plunge into anything without a second thought if it appeases him_._ Me_…_well, I've got to be the wet blanket, apparently_._ This is why—_

Hiro's eyes furrowed. Another thing he was trying to steer his thoughts clear of: the girl of his dreams that had left him for her childhood friend, Ayaka.

Shuichi was still babbling as they strolled through the revolving front doors to sign in with a pretty but derisive secretary. "I mean what if this guy's a total sex god?"

"Then he probably has whores trailing his every move," Hiro sniffed as he hastily inked in his name to hurry away from the glaring receptionist.

"And he chose _you_," Shuichi practically purred as they hopped into the otherwise empty elevator. Hiro was grateful for that, because Shuichi probably would have continued talking even with an audience that feigned indifference.

"For what? Another fling?" Hiro asked. "Shuichi, just tell me who he is."

"Nope," Shuichi riposted, smiling brightly. "You're going to have to guess. But I'll give you a hint: he's not like Taro."

Hiro blinked, and the name clicked after a moment. Taro was the name of the guitar technicians with mossy brasses, stringy hair that was almost dripping with natural oils, and glasses that were almost opaque for their film of grit. He had taken to following Hiro with a dazed expression whenever possible. After K had caught him undressing Hiro with his eyes, he had shot at the poor man until he quit in fear of his life. Hiro laughed nervously. "Better than the _sex god_," he teased.

Shuichi's jaw dropped. "What the hell makes you say that?!"

Hiro winced. Shuichi had a knack of screaming when Hiro's ear was rather close. "At least he would care for me," he sniffed.

Shuichi rolled his eyes. "Your helpless, you know that. A stupid, hopeless romantic."

"I agree wholeheartedly," Hiro mumbled as they stepped off onto their floor.

"Well, who do you think it is?" Shuichi demanded.

"This would be a hell of a lot easier if you would just tell me."

"I know. But what do you know?"

"Well, it's a guy."

"Yes."

"He's possibly foreign…" Hiro added slowly. "He gave me a lot of American and European music."

"Ok. Wait, was it _good_ music?"

"Excellent music."

"Great. What else?"

"And he has long hair. He suggested it in one of his letters, unless he has a terrible sense of irony."

"That's good. Anything else?"

"And he works with us. Or, at least me, anyway."

K glanced up as they answered the studio. "Hey, Hiro."

Hiro nodded in his general direction in greeting. "So, I have no idea, Shu."

For some reason, Shuichi seemed at a lost for words. He frantically glanced between Hiro and their manager, then slapped his own forehead. "Yeah, Hiro," he growled from behind gritted teeth.

--

Later, much to his chagrin, Hiro was looking for the present.

Well, not so much _looking_. After all, it had been lying in front of his door each time in plain sight. It was more of an expectant, eager emotion.

His stomach was filled with butterflies. Butterflies on acid.

And there it was, lying so neatly and smugly there on his scuffed foot mat just outside his front door. The hallway window was open, and at that convenient moment, a cold breeze sifted in and riffled the glistening golden ribbon jauntily, as if to welcome him.

He stooped and picked it up. It was vaguely rectangular-shaped, and he brought it inside, attempting not to get his hopes up too high.

He barely bothered locking his door before resting the present down on his scarred kitchen table and reading the note.

_Lovely Hiro,_

_Apparently, Western holidays are not widely celebrated here_._ Well, I just decided to do it the old-fashioned way today, and give you something that all Westerners give their sweethearts for Valentine's Day_._ Don't worry, I'll go for originality again next time_.

_Love,_

_A frustrated, ignored man_

Hiro ignored any sense of propriety as he cleaved through the forest green wrapping paper to get to the treasure inside, nearly slicing open his finger on the cardboard box inside as he shredded that as well.

Chocolate; it was Hiro's way of showing to himself that there was something godlike out there that decided to favor him. It was in a smaller heart-shaped box with a fuzzy panda bear clinging on with rolling, adorable blue eyes. He flipped open the box and tipped a caramel into his mouth. Holding his cache to his chest like a precious infant, he slunk over to his overstuffed couch to wolf down a truffle.

His anonymous giver was certainly a mystery, he decided. But why anonymously? Was he grossly perverted? Was he just a fan? Was he _Suguchi?!_

Hiro nearly gagged on his prized chocolate at the thought.

No, it didn't fit. For that, he was grateful.

It couldn't be Suguru. The child was sweet, but Hiro wasn't sure if he liked men. Even if he did, he wouldn't have been the type to cook up something of this nature. He would have straight-out told his emotions with no shame and continued working in a single breath.

Sakano…well, that did not fit either. Seguchi was his god, his _only_ god.

As for Shuichi, he was totally enraptured with Yuki. While Hiro had previously harbored some feelings for his friend, he had stepped aside to let the blond reluctantly (and all but unwillingly) take his friend, recognizing that even Yuki could do Shuichi more good than he himself could. It had hurt, but he was happy for his friend.

And K was getting over his divorce, wasn't he? And from what Hiro gathered, he wasn't into men either.

_K_…_does he know that I'm attracted to him?_

It was true. Anyone who was into men would fail not to pass a second glance to the trigger-happy American. While he had been able to ignore it at first, it was apparent that his own manager had caught his eye. Hiro had long since that revelation decided that perhaps ignoring K was the best path for now.


	4. Chapter 4

_This story was requested by the glorious Orange-Maple_.

_Disclaimer_:_ They lied_._ Dreams _don't_ come true_._The song lyrics are from the _ImmigrantSong_ by Zeppelin_.

_Pairing_:_ KxHiro_

_Warning_:_ Language_

_And for those for you who have read "The Seven Sins of Hiroshi Nakano", I hope you'll forgive me for using that for the restaurant's name_.

_And thank you, everyone, for your kind reviews_.

_**Sugar, Sugar?**_

_**By Cory**_

_February Sixth_:_ Thursday_

Thursday was a recording day. Shuichi sang until he could barely manage to complain, Suguru only glared wearily at Shuichi when he scratchily bleated, and Hiro spun his fingers over the metallic wires until his fingers throbbed.

The fifth time Sakano took a brief leave of consciousness, K finally bonked him on the head with the butt of his gun and grudgingly allowed them to prepare to go home.

"Shuichi, we're going to WanderLust tonight, right?" Hiro remarked, stretching his cramping fingers.

Shuichi blanched, then half-hid his face behind the dangling microphone guiltily. His dyed hair glinted lightly in the overhanging lights of the studio. "Erm…sorry, but I made plans with Yuki."

Hiroshi frowned slightly, and his lower lip involuntarily puckered into a pout as a crese popped into existence between his eyebrows. Shuichi's voice was all too excited for him to believe that his friend was actually repentant. "Come on, Shu. This has been our tradition to go out on Thursdays since…well, ever."

Shuichi cringed, but it seemed staged, somehow, and Hiro felt a sinking, icy feeling inside, like his stomach acid had transformed into slush. _Shuichi, what the hell are you planning?_ he wondered.

"You go with K instead."

_Oh_._ That_. Hiro stiffened, and K asked from the other side of the booth, "Eh?"

"You're going to take Hiro out instead of me." There was something into Shuichi's voice; triumph? Hiro sincerely tried to not appear as terrified as he felt.

K shrugged.

Shuichi grinned evilly.

Hiro moaned.

--

The car ride was stiff, but at least not silent. Hiro laid his head unenthusiastically against the plush headrest as Tokyo flashed by at speeds that were perhaps a bit more swift than necessary. _But did I expect anything less? _he wondered, glancing at the speedometer.

Being this close to his crush was quite a strain on his nerves. He spied at him out of the corner of his eye quickly, hoping to catch some emotion from his face, but his eyes were hidden behind mirrored sunglass. Hiro did not realize that he had been staring for all of seven minutes until K silently reached over to prod a button on the surface of the dashboard. He spun a dial so the blasting music that made Hiro cringe from the volume down to a bearable level.

_I come from the land of the ice and snow_

_Where the midnight sun and the hot springs blow_…

Hiro blanched. "That's Led—"

"—Zeppelin, I know," K interjected, suddenly cheerful. "You know them?"

Hiro shrugged, but was suddenly unwilling to let his manager know about his anonymous sender. True, he knew that his manager did not like men, but maybe someday, something would make this man turn and relent to him with some small kindness to permit some reprieve from this pain from unrequited feelings. "I got some music as a gift," he replied rigidly.

"From your future valentine, yes?"

If Hiro had been the one clenching the wheel, they would have undoubtedly skittered across the road at that moment. "Excuse me?" he croaked.

K hesitated, then smiled. "Shuichi told me about it. A guy, right?"

Hiro closed his eyes temporarily before reopening them. _Shuichi, you are a dead man_. "Yes," he said quietly.

K laughed before clapping him on the shoulder, entirely disregarding both common sense and unwritten rules of the road. "It's fine, Hiro. It doesn't matter."

Hiro flinched when the hand slapped lightly against his shoulder. _You_…_burn me_. "Don't touch me," he muttered quietly, but firmly. His restraint was already pulled taut, like a rubber band on the verge of snapping explosively.

K blinked. "Oh. Sorry, Hiro."

Hiro could only manage to nod mutely. How was he going to survive this night? _Great, now it's stressed again_. And it was true; there was a layer of overwrought anxiousness seething beneath the silence, like relatives that only pretended to know each other.

_How soft your fields so green  
Can whisper tales of gore  
Of how we calmed the tides of war  
We are your overlords_

The music seemed twice as loud as before now, weighing down upon Hiro's chest like a boulder.

The majority of the awkwardness had dissipated by the time the two reached the restaurant. Hiro briefly wondered how K knew his way there. By the time the musician and manager had reached the front, K had long since abandoned his sunglasses under the stars that were slowly beginning to glint whitely above in the rushing twilight. The car slammed to a halt under the concrete arch hanging over the drive, and amber light gleamed out to them from the panes of glass, through which Hiro could see a little less than half the restaurant. A valet in uniform khaki slack and a red vest strode forward and bowed slightly to K, who handed the keys over with a regretful grimace at his car. Hiro heard him quietly threatening the bow with disembowelment if he returned it in less than perfect state.

Hiro grinned at his pouting manager when he joined him before the spotless glass door. "Your baby will be fine," he crooned teasingly, to which K merely shot him a moody glare.

Inside, they were seated by a waiter with inky hay that was streaked with gray. K ordered wine while Hiro ordered tea.

"I'm trying to imagine Shuichi here," K mused, tapping a finger against his bottom lip as he glanced at the walls lined with red velvet with hand-painted designs of nightingales, the gleaming platinum-edged cups, and the immaculately dressed waiters. He seemed quite recovered from his "baby".

Hiro shrugged. "Shuichi likes to play 'dress up' every once in a while. Actually, until a few months ago it was a dump, which was why we were able to afford it when we were high school slackers."

"I have to doubt that _you_ were ever a slacker, Hiro."

Hiro laughed with mock-mysteriousness. "Oh, that's just what _you_ think," he retorted jokingly.

K rolled his eyes and lounged back in his seat, ignoring the disapproving fleeting looks from the other patrons.

It was after a long—but somehow, less uncomfortable—stretch of quiet when Hiro shifted and asked, "So…how're you doing?"

"With what?"

Hiro sighed and decided that speaking like a stranger would not help. "What I mean is…how are you coping?"

"With the divorce?"

"Well, um, yes." Hiro wondered whether or not he should have asked, but it was obvious that K needed to speak to someone honestly about it.

Hiro knew that K did not have many friends. What with being a stranger in a wholly different country and being the sole manager of one of Japan's most popular bands, not much time was left for a social life. Besides Ark and his family, Hiro was certain that he interacted with few other people closely that was not necessary for work. But his son was his world. Michael was one person that K would burn the world down for.

_Is there room for me in that world?_

K ran a hand through his hair, and Hiro had to make an effort to not drool as the fingers sifted through the cornsilk strands. "It's…pretty, well, not ok."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

K glanced at him. "The food hasn't even arrived yet. I think it's pretty early to be getting all deep on me."

"K."

"Alright. Judy and I…had some misunderstanding."

"Like what?"

"I realized something just a little too late, and we agreed that this was for the best. Of course, that doesn't make it any better, and we could have done it with more…dignity and grace."

"K, what happened?"

K suddenly frowned at him, and Hiro frantically backpedalled so not as to get hot lead between his eyebrows. K had been on good behavior so far. "I mean, if you want to talk about it."

"Not really," K mumbled finally.

_I want to help you_._ But apparently you don't want me at all_. "Oh. Right."

The food came and they babbled about meaningless, pointless things. However, K seemed to make the simplest topic into a vehement, engaging subject.

"Hiro, what do you think of love?"

Hiro choked, and K looked at him innocently until he recovered and Hiro croaked, "Wazzup?" He dragged the cloth napkin over his mouth.

"I mean, what's your opinion on it?"

"I…why?"

"Well, you're the only one I'd ask," K told him. He attempted to rearrange his face into one of childlike innocence, but his facial features could not quite achieve it.

"It sucks."

K looked like he had not expected that. "What?"

"I have to assume that you don't love Judy," Hiro stated simply. He had seen the two together; there was only a hollow echo of love; respect, some affection, friendship, and companionship. No love. _Maybe she thinks she can get better than him_._ She really is stupid_. "It really does suck, though. It feels like the world is ending but only you know, and it's all inside of you. But the really weird thing is that, by that point, you don't care anymore.

"It's like…sanity. Like it's munching away inside you, and it hurts so bad."

K was beginning to look incredulous, like he knew better.

"But it's not so bad as that," Hiro added quickly. "Like the dark chocolate Ryuichi gave us all one time that gave Sakano bad gas. All…bittersweet. And stuff." Hiro was feeling the sore need for K to shut him up, because all the poetry was gone now, and there was a faint pinkness seeping up his neck and cheeks.

"Oh. Then…I don't feel like you do. I mean, not the same love you do. We seem to think of it in different ways."

Hiro could feel the blush and embarrassment shrinking away only to have agony rear up through his lovesick, raw body and a pallid color like oatmeal come over his face. "You…had an affair?" he asked quietly.

K stared at him, and briefly looked like he wanted to strangle him before half-yelling, "No!"

Hiro jolted, and relief pounded back into him in time with his roaring heart. "Ok!" he mocked, noticing that more than half the restaurant was glaring at them.

"But I do love him."

Hiro flinched, then the full affect of his eating partners words hit him. "'Him'?" he asked bitterly, but still shocked.

"Apparently, I'm gay."

"But…you and Judy."

"It was only until I met him that I realized that there was only one person I could settle for, and that was him. A man. So…I'm gay."

Hiro was beginning to feel sick. No relief accompanied this revelation. Only dull, frosty jealousy that shredded his insides and made every nerve ending on him collapse to give in to that dull, frigid nothingness.

_But_…_fairy tales say you're supposed to love me_. But if K was the willing knight, then didn't that make Hiro the monstrous dragon? Only that could explain why K was slowly killing him. And perhaps that death would be some clemency, but there was apparently none coming from this oblivious, smiling, beautiful, heartbreaking murderer.

"Oh," he rasped.

"Yup."

There was nothing else to say.

--

Upon his return to his home, Hiro lifelessly glanced to the side of his door and blinked.

Lilies. Lots and lots of lilies. They brimmed over in the hallway until it seemed the whole inner hallways were plastered with the bright flowers. Lilies on top of lilies, all crowding to jam into his eyes. Red, yellow, purple, orange, and even blue. There must have been hundreds pried into that hallway. He stared in absolute shock and felt the faint stirrings of something beneath the dank gloom that had settled over him. The smell of them soared up his nose until he nearly choked on the collectively saccharine sweetness.

Hiro's neighbor could not even leave his home. He was just gawking at the number of flowers, and his coffee mug fell from lip fingers and smashed within the region of flowers.

As Hiro took a shaky, shocked step forward, something crackled under his shoe. He jumped back reflexively and saw a thick, expensive slip of paper with expert calligraphy. He knelt and lightly picked it up, and some hopeful warmth seeped through him.

_Dearest Hiro,_

_A lily for every time I thought of you today_.

_Yours forever,_

_One who's curious as to your feelings toward these gifts_

_P.S. Surely you know that I am attracted to you, right?_


	5. Chapter 5

_This story was requested by the superb Orange-Maple_.

_Disclaimer_:_ I do not own Gravitation_._ Only Hiroshi, whom I force to do hot, sweaty, orgasmic mansex stories_._ (No, not really_._)_

_Pairing_:_ KxHiro_

_Warning_:_ Language_

_A Note for the Confused or Shocked Peoples_:_ As for K announcing that he's gay, I'm not changing it_._ I did not mean bi_._ I mean gay_._ Because Hiro is the only one for him_.

_**Sugar, Sugar?**_

_**By Cory**_

_February Seventh_:_ Thursday_

_Only K_, Hiro decided, glowering bitterly at the sheet music. _Only K would bring something like this up days before_.

"But this takes _months_ of planning and scheduling!" Sakano bleated, dabbing at his damp forehead with a handkerchief. "We can't just hope to…"

"Rush?" Shuichi offered helpfully, but there was a gleeful glimmer in his eyes that was unmistakable for its mischievous nature. He folded his arms over his lime green track jacket with a little upturn of his mouth.

Sakano nodded, relieved that there seemed to be someone on his side. "Y-Yes!" he gasped out, looking ingenuously hopeful.

K swept out his gun and pressed it to Sakano's temple. Sakano screeched and fainted, keeling over limply to the floor.

K grinned, baring strong white teeth. "The concert is on Valentine's Day, and I had an agreement with the Satou Amphitheatre to let you three perform," he repeated. "Now, we're going to be in a rush, so this is the plan! Shuichi and Suguru will go over the instrumentals Hiro wrote while I—"

"No."

The formerly eagerly babbling musicians and manager spun to look at the guitarist. Hiro's eyes were hidden by his meticulously groomed forelock, and his mouth was twisted in an unpleasant way.

"Hiro…?" Shuichi ventured. He sounded anxious.

Hiro gulped, hoping to cleanse the burning, incensed feeling that boiled his insides. "No," he repeated, and this time his voice was far stronger. "I'm not doing it."

K blanched. His mouth parted slightly as if to say _oh_, but then his eyes narrowed. "I already agreed," he growled. "You don't have a choice."

Hiro spun and suddenly his eyes were far too bright. Through his clenched teeth he snarled, "Then maybe it's time I wised up and left."

K slammed his fist on the table and leaned threateningly toward Hiroshi. "Maybe you should make your fucking mind and not play the damsel in distress every damn hour, acting like you'll leave. You haven't yet, and you _will stay_."

Hiro's hands whorled into white-knuckled fists. Never in his life had he wanted to his something until his hand was a bloody disaster of broken bones and ripped skin. "I swear that if you keep using us like this I will leave."

"Hiro! Stop it!" Shuichi ordered from behind K. His wide eyes were far shinier than typical….

"_No!_ I won't! K…K just…K is just…Look what he's doing to me!"

Shuichi blanched. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"I didn't want to be like this!" he growled. His eyes slanted dangerously. He reached the door of the meeting room in two enormous strides and had the door opened a fraction of an inch before K's comparatively pale hand smashed it closed. K's infuriated blue eyes hovered at the corner of his peripheral vision.

"We're not through here," K barked.

"Fuck you," Hiro snapped with the desperate ferocity of a wounded animal and flicked h K's hand away from the door and slipped out.

He was considerably glad that no one followed.

--

It is in human nature to only regret and think of one's actions after the deed is done. It was no different for Hiroshi Nakano.

He sulked in his kitchen, making a huge ice cream sundae that slumped uncomfortably to one side, as if to sniffily announce, _This just isn't working, dude_. It was through a dim haze of his pounding head and inflamed eyes.

_Indeed_, he thought moodily as he scooped out a healthy shovel of vanilla and _plop_ped it down on his chocolate syrup-oozing confection,_ look at what K's doing to me_.

It had been easy to ignore in the beginning. Certainly, lusting after another man was nothing new to Hiro. While he had once leaned toward women, he knew that pleasure and affection was left to be discovered with the same sex as well. He had known when to quit the game, knowing it was just that: a game. A game of yeah-I-see-you-across-the-room-and-that-ass-is-something-to-behold, but it had had to be immediately countered with you-sure-are-sexy-but-I-want-to-be-cocktease. This (per Hiro's foolproof, never fail pick-up technique) was followed by a feint much like an if-I-walk-like-this or an if-I-lick-my-lips-just-_so_. It was ingrained into every male's head. It was the innate sense of taunt and catch, like a modern play on some dance that a blushing maiden would easily initiate and an all-too-eager youth would reciprocate.

But this was different. It was simply so offsetting it irked him. To want something that he could not have was a harsh reality to face.

Hiro knew it was not uncommon. Every day, people had to understand that not every aspiration came to be. He had done this with Shuichi, though his feelings for Shuichi could not have even hoped to evaluate with this uproar of raw sensations.

Such were his thoughts as he prodded a bent spoon through a halfhearted lump of slushy sundae. He pouted moodily as he groaned and thrust a hand through his sloppy horsetail, freeing it of its plain brown tie. He was a bit ashamed at how he had acted, but he was absolutely certain that K had deserved it. _Bad Luck isn't just another spineless troupe of miscreant losers_,he thought._ We can think and feel_._ K needs to learn that_._ We aren't just going to let him push us over for his every whim_._ I'm not, in any case_._ If this is what's going to become of us, I want no part of it_.

But K…K was changing him in ways he did not appreciate at all. He was beaming and joking one moment, and at the lowest of possible human lows the next. His thoughts were off-kilter, swaggering off until they wandered to ponder on that foolish, selfish American.

Hiro gritted his teeth. Just thinking of him made his skin _itch_.

_Why did it have to be you?_ he wondered. _Just what is it that I'm feeling? I know that I'm a great guy_:_ I'm attractive and funny and smart, and I play guitar to boot_._ Both women and men would pay me to lick my shoes_._ But why did it have to be you?_

_I'm no idiot_._ There are tons of better people out there_…_or so I'm told_._ But you are flawless_._ I know that my life has no sense without you_._ Surely you have figured out that I would do anything—scale Everest, dive into the darkest trench, die, _kill_—if I ever suspected it would increase your happiness_._ This is unpredictable, this is dangerous, this is agonizing, this is beautiful, this is overwhelming, and you are causing it_._ Somehow, you are tearing me up and reassembling me all in one look_.

_God damn you for doing this to me_._ I don't want this_._ I won't accept this!_

_Why you?!_

Suddenly, Hiro blanched. A little giggle escaped his lips. He shoved the back of his hand against his mouth, hoping to stifle it, but it increased until it was a full-throated laugh.

"I…I've figured it out," he finally announced to his empty condominium breathlessly.

_It has to be you simply _because_ it is you_.

--

It was well after the pangs of sundae-induced stomachache were settling in that the package arrived.

Hiro stumbled to the front door and opened it to see—not quite to his astonishment—a present. It a small, rectangular box wrapped in tawny paper that glinted softly in the indirect light. A silvery-grey bow topped it off, with a small note. He bent and scooped it up, numbly taking the gift inside and locking the door. Hiro curled up under a blanket on his couch before shredding through the package to find a wide collection of various expensive, rich candies and chocolates.

_Dear Hiro,_

_Sugar, sugar?_

_I heard that you weren't feeling so great, so I took the liberty of sending you these_._ Did you know that chocolate makes you feel happy? Even like you're in love? In that case, please eat these immediately_….

Hiro stood, shaking in a whirlwind of emotion. "I…why?" he asked in a shaky voice, his hands twisting the candies. "Why won't you tell me _who you are?_"

These gifts—such kindness warmed him to no end, but this, in his sensible, doubting mind, was coming to…what? A note that said "sorry, but…" or "you're cute, but…"

_Because that's what K did, isn't it?_

Hiro choked back a sob and clenched his gift in his hands and stomped into his bathroom, shaking violently. _Is this a game to you? This was never going to happen to me! Not to me! This is for those hopeless bums that can't get off their fucking asses and always get hurt in the end!_

He quivered before his toilet, looking into the pure water silently reflecting the image of a heat-flushed, tear-streaked face. With a gulped sob, he ruined the image by tossing his gift roughly into the toilet.


End file.
